


With you, I'm a beautiful mess

by driftingMarlowe



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Aziraphale and Crowley Relationship (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Other, but with a touch of Crowley, exploding popcorn is scary, just a smol fun fic, may edit later idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driftingMarlowe/pseuds/driftingMarlowe
Summary: Crowley made one of his distinctly Crowley-ish sounds. “Hgn? Oh, ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you. You gave your flaming sword away, yeah?”“You know this,” Aziraphale responded quickly, but not sounding exasperated. Good enough.“Well, erm… d’you think you can… call it back?”“Call it back? Dear boy, I--”“I mean, er, ngk. Is it gone from you permanently, or was the sword, y’know, just an object--is it part of your essence, I mean?”“Ah, er…” Aziraphale fell into silence as they walked, apparently considering. “I’ve never tried.”“Why don’t you do it now?” Crowley suggested.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	With you, I'm a beautiful mess

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this excellent work](https://twitter.com/calowny/status/1288112258212491265) by Calowny!
> 
> Title comes from _Sad Song_ by We the Kings.

“Hey, angel?” They were walking through a cornfield together, both supposedly sent on missions by their respective offices. Crowley, to let loose the local cattle and goats and let them trample the corn. Aziraphale, to encourage the plants to grow nice and healthy, and provide a plentiful crop. 

Which was sort of rubbish, really, Crowley reflected. Aziraphale had _no_ idea how to treat plants properly, would give them _affection_ and _praise_ when they didn’t even deserve it! That wasn’t the way of things at all! He curled his fingers around a slender stem, bending it towards him. Glared at the offending leaves. “These people here are depending on _you_ for food, got it? Can’t have a decent crop with _leaf spots_ , now can we? Ought to teach you a lesson,” he muttered, mouth working itself into a tight line. “Ought to uproot you, show you to all the others. One of you is bad enough; don’t need everyone else thinking they can just _get away with it._ ” 

“Crowley, dear boy,” said Aziraphale kindly, touching the stem gingerly just above Crowley’s tense fingers. “Let the poor thing be; I’m sure it’s doing its best. Aren’t you, dear?” The demon hissed in annoyance, split tongue flickering into view for just a moment, but his fingers unwrapped from their chokehold grip. 

“Now, what was it you wanted?” 

Crowley made one of his distinctly Crowley-ish sounds. “Hgn? Oh, ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you. You gave your flaming sword away, yeah?” 

“You know this,” Aziraphale responded quickly, but not sounding exasperated. Good enough.

“Well, erm… d’you think you can… call it back?”

“Call it back? Dear boy, I--”

“I mean, er, _ngk._ Is it gone from you permanently, or was the sword, y’know, just an object--is it part of your essence, I mean?”

“Ah, er…” Aziraphale fell into silence as they walked, apparently considering. “I’ve never tried.”

“Why don’t you do it now?” Crowley suggested.

“Here?”

“Sure, there’s no one around for miles. Who’s going to see?” 

Aziraphale frowned down at his hoe, an implement that would explain his being in the fields if any humans came across him. Supposedly. Crowley didn’t have the heart to remind him that these fields belonged to a small village, where surely everyone knew everyone else, and strangers were a thing to be gossiped about; nor tell him that the hoe was practically useless by now, this late in the season.

In a blink, the hoe widened and flattened, the metal end stretching up to envelop all but the hilt. Crowley hesitated for just a second, wondering if this was a bad idea that was about to go horribly, horribly wrong for him. Aziraphale had been a _soldier_ in Heaven, and however much he insisted he wasn’t, some part of him was still a warrior. How easy would it be to strike down the demon now, with him practically goading him on?

“I… I can’t,” Aziraphale murmured softly, almost wistfully. “The sword’s easy, but the fire… I can’t.” 

“It’s alright, angel,” Crowley soothed. “Hang on a sec, and don’t blame me if this goes pear-shaped, yeah?”

“I _like_ pears,” he said absently.

“ _Angel.”_

“Yes, yes, alright, dear boy.”

Crowley raised a hand to his mouth, flicked his tongue out, and did a motion rather like striking a match. His fingers lit up, merrily blazing away, and he carefully touched them to the sword. As he’d hoped, but hadn’t expected, the flames eagerly transferred themselves over. He shook out his fingers, watching in awe as the fire swirled around the blade. 

“--!” 

Crowley grinned. He hadn’t had much chance to see the flaming sword in Eden, and this one was surely a pale replica of the original, but still--it was a marvelous sight, his angel looking like a warrior. “Told ya it’d work.”

“You said nothing of the sort!” Aziraphale retorted, but with a smile, and soon both of them were laughing.

“D’you reckon you still remember how?”

“I’m… I’m not sure,” he admitted, staring down at the fiery blade. “It’s been so long…”

“Go on, give it a try then. No harm done if not.”

Aziraphale hesitated, but then nodded. He shifted into a fighting stance, and Crowley could tell immediately his corporation had forgotten none of his training. In fact, Aziraphale almost looked _calm_ , in a way Crowley hadn’t seen before. A peacefulness that came from assuming the position you were created to fill, even if it wasn’t quite a perfect fit. 

He needed no more encouraging, and swung into a series of attacks and feints, strikes and dodges, all against an imagined enemy. Crowley flopped cross-legged onto the ground, enjoying this unique sight--the earlier worry that Aziraphale might turn on him nearly forgotten. This was _Aziraphale_ , not some random angel met by happenstance.

Crowley grew lost in the performance, his gaze focused on only the angel, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Until--

“Angel! Watch--” But he didn’t have a chance to finish. 

The sword brushed against a cornstalk, then another as Aziraphale started to panic, the space they’d been in before suddenly seeming much too small. Crowley leapt to his feet, trying desperately to contain the flames. They _were_ Hellfire, after all, or… had started out that way, but he couldn’t control them now.

_POP!_ Crowley hissed involuntarily, eyes going full snake. Aziraphale backed up, uncertain, and Crowley took the opportunity to dash behind him for protection. _POP!_

_POP! POPOPOPOPOPOPOP!!!_

They scrambled backward from the suddenly-exploding corn, the sword lighting more plants as Aziraphale went. “Angel!” Crowley screeched. “The bloody sword! The _sword_! _Put it out!_ ”

“I-I _can’t_!” 

There was nothing else for it. They turned tail and ran, Aziraphale doing his best to keep the sword tucked in close to his body to avoid any more explosions. Except… they hadn’t bothered to take notice of the path on the walk earlier, and now they’d lost all sense of direction entirely.

“ _Then throw it away, angel! Get it away from us!_ ” 

_‘Us.’_ Aziraphale’s brain shuddered to a halt, stalling on that one word. _‘Us.’_ Without his brain desperately yelling at his legs to keep moving, his momentum, too, shuddered and stalled. 

“Bloody--angel! What the hell-heav- _what are you doing_?” Crowley sucked in a breath of air, wishing his muscles weren’t burning so badly, and entirely forgetting he neither needed to breathe nor provide energy to muscles “We gotta get out of here!” He slammed into Aziraphale’s back, peering warily over his shoulder. They’d somehow gotten turned around entirely, and were now facing the entire scene of destruction that they’d just run away from. The corn was still exploding, but their corporations were now firmly resisting any further movement. Aziraphale panted for breath, holding the godsdamned (literally) sword up for a better look. “Stupid-bloody- _thing_.” He dropped it, and as his fingers let go the fire shwooped into nothingness, the sword returning to its natural form of a hoe. 

Aziraphale stared at it. So did Crowley, barely managing to speak through his oxygen-starved lungs. “You mean-to say- _that_ was all that needed to be done?! Angel, you should’ve dropped the blessed thing right away!” 

The last of the corn settled, indignantly, into quiet. Aziraphale bent down gingerly, picking up a small white vaguely-spherical object. “The corn exploded into _this?_ ”

Crowley leaned closer for a better look, and not at all enjoying the particular closeness to his angel. Nope, not at all. “Looks like… like… one of those things in the sky. You know.” 

Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear him, scooping up several more of the things. “Hmm… I wonder…? It _did_ start off as edible.” He nibbled one up, rolling it around in his mouth to get the full sensation. 

Crowley yelped. “Are you sure that’s okay to eat?! It just _exploded_!” 

“Tastes good,” Aziraphale said, and then swallowed. Crowley waited in tense silence for something, anything, some indication of-of poison, or toxicity. “Hmm. You should try one, dear boy. Although I think it could use some salt, perchance, or maybe butter….”

“You don’t even know what it is!”

Aziraphale said something incomprehensible around a mouthful of the stuff, then swallowed. “It’s popcorn,” he said, beaming. “Came up with it myself.” 

“Ah…. I suppose it _did_ pop, rather a lot too. Although… very original,” Crowley teased, smirking at the angel’s glare. 

“Yes, I would imagine someone has heard the noise and is on their way to investigate. Shall we depart, dear?”

Crowley gingerly plucked a single kernel from the angel’s waiting palm. “Tastes… decent. Bit of an improvement on the original, at least.”

They found their own way out, eventually, and what matter if it took far longer than it should have? The company was delightful, the conversation pleasant, and there were even snacks. 

Aziraphale paused on the edge of the field, looking out at the road leading back into town. “Well… this day was something. I’ll have to see how much damage there is tomorrow, in the daylight. Head office will be on my tail if the crops have inexplicably exploded. _Your_ job, though, was a success, I should think.”

“Clouds! That’s what they reminded me of! Clouds!” Crowley turned to look at the angel, and then, impulsively, without considering how his words might be taken--”I’ll help you heal the damage. Can’t leave you in this mess alone, now can I?” 

Aziraphale managed a very Crowley-esque “Ngk”.

“Well, then, angel. See you tomorrow.” The demon strode off, utterly ignorant of Aziraphale’s spluttering behind him. Ignorant of just how much his words affected him--or, maybe, that was on purpose. 


End file.
